Theo and I sit on the loveseat,
my body a parenthesis enclosing
the small exclamation of his.
We study the six spider
webs on the other side
of our dividing glass
that seem to hold our home
together. This is what it is like
to be inside of you
dew suggesting diamonds
all along the improbable
silk of your weave
spun of nothing,
stitched to air
and yet holding
our world together.
2 Comments on “Dear Poem,”
all along the improbable
silk of your weave
— involuntary intake of breath —
So beautiful, Sage.
Thanks so very much, dear Dale!